As soon as they came into the kitchen after leaving Fritz, Katrina’s mother began to busy herself with her baking.
“Rudolf will be pleased with the gingerbread,” she murmured, as she opened the oven door whence came the savoury odours; “he is very fond of it, and it has been a long while since he has eaten any. Now,” continued Frieda aloud, as she turned and looked over her shoulder, “thou, Katrina, canst set the table. The father will be coming soon; he has had a busy day, and I know he will be very tired.”
“Yes, little mother, there were many visitors to-day. I was at the gates when most of them came in. One of the ladies who stopped and spoke to me said something about my living in the same castle where the good Saint Elizabeth had lived. Did a saint ever live here, mütterchen?”
“Yes,” Frau Hofer answered, “we might say in truth that two saints have lived here at the Wartburg; for surely Martin Luther also was a saint!”
“Oh, did he, did Martin Luther live here?” Katrina cried. “I thought he lived in the Widow Cotta’s house at Eisenach.”
“Yes, he lived in both places for awhile. It was as a little schoolboy that he spent some time in Frau Cotta’s home. Here at the Wartburg, as a man, he dwelt in concealment for about a year, under the protection of the Elector Frederick. He was supposed to be a prisoner,” Frieda added, “but he had the freedom of a guest. In his disguise as ‘Squire George’ he would roam about the country, sometimes gathering strawberries on the hill, sometimes visiting the neighbouring monasteries, but he never went far unattended.”
“But why was he a prisoner, little mother? Thou hast just said the Elector was his friend.”
“It was necessary to conceal him from his enemies,” the mother answered. “But wait, my child, until thou art a little older and canst understand; then I will explain the cause of his being made a prisoner. Here at the Wartburg,” she added, after a moment’s pause, “he did a great work for mankind. It was in his room over there in the Knight’s House, that Luther made his translation of the Bible.”
Katrina’s eyes were wide with interest, but before she could ask other questions about Luther or Saint Elizabeth, the door opened, and her father came into the room. He kissed his wife and took Katrina in his strong arms, where, from a tiny child, she had loved to nestle.
“I’ll not let thee hold me long, father, only just a minute. Thou must surely be very tired; thou hast shown so many through the castle. Dost thou remember the lady who stopped and spoke to me about Saint Elizabeth? Such a beautiful light seemed to be shining from her face.”